Quotes About Longing

Freedom isn't enough. What I desire doesn't have a name yet.

Once in a while, groundless melancholy would darken my face, a dull and incomprehensible nostalgia for times never experienced would invade me.

She knew what desire was — though she didn't know she knew. It was like this: she was starving but not for food, it was a kind of painful taste that rose from the pit of her stomach and made her nipples quiver and her arms empty without an embrace.

I, who called love my hope for love.

Liberdade é pouco. O que eu desejo ainda não tem nome.

She felt like a dry branch, sticking out of the air. Brittle, covered in old bark. Maybe she was thirsty, but there was no water nearby. And above all the suffocating certainty that if a man were to embrace her at that moment she would feel not a soft sweetness in her nerves, but lime juice stinging them, her body like wood near fire, warped, crackling, dry.

Love? I wanted to go with him, to be on the stronger side, for him to spare me, like one who seeks shelter in the arms of the enemy to stay far from his arrows. It was different than love, I was finding out: I wanted him as a thirsty person desires water, without feelings, without even wanting to be happy.

Ah, meu amor, não tenhas medo da carência: ela é o nosso destino maior. O amor é tão mais fatal do que eu havia pensado, o amor é tão inerente quanto a própria carência, e nós somos garantidos por uma necessidade que se renovará continuamente. O amor já está, está sempre. Falta apenas o golpe da graça - que se chama paixão.

I was first drawn to you thinking you were going to teach me something more than that. I needed that which I sensed in you and which you have always denied.

The night of today looks at me with torpor, verdigris and lime. I want inside this night that is longer than life, I want, inside this night, life raw and bloody and full of saliva.

I ask: will she ever someday know love's farewell? Will she ever someday know the swoonings of love? Will she take in her own way the sweet journey? I know nothing. What can you do with the truth that everyone's a little sad and a little alone.

Mas lembrar-se com saudade é como se despedir de novo.

Não ter nascido bicho parece ser uma de minhas secretas nostalgias.

The night that wouldn't, and wouldn't, and wouldn't come, that was impossible. And her love that now was impossible—that was dry the way the fever of someone who doesn't sweat was love without opium or morphine. And "I love you" was a splinter you couldn't remove with tweezers. A splinter buried in the toughest part of the sole of your foot.

Mi dedico alla nostalgia della mia antica povertà, quando tutto era più sobrio e più degno, e io non avevo ancora mangiato aragoste.

Quis o mar e sentiu os lençóis da cama.

Will this story someday become my own congealing? How do I know. If there's any truth in it—and of course the story is true though invented—may everyone recognize it in himself because all of us are one and he who is not poor in money is poor in spirit or longing because he lacks something more precious than gold—there are those who lack the delicate essential.

Bastou vê-lo para torná-lo imediatamente sua goiabada-com-queijo.

I want to see birds flying or perched in trees—but far from my hands.

She wanted the best oils and perfumes, wanted the best kind of life, wanted the most tender hopes, wanted the best delicate meats and also the heaviest ones to eat, wanted her flesh to break into spirt and her spirit to break into flesh, wanted those fine mixtures— everything that would secretly ready her for those first moments that would come.

Civilizar minha vida é expulsar-me de mim. O que me mata é o cotidiano. Eu queria só exceções. Estou perdida: eu não tenho hábitos.

Es que todo lo que tengo no se puede dar. Ni tomar. Yo misma puedo morir de sed ante mí. La soledad está mezclada en mi esencia... [...] -Cuando me acerqué- dijo, él sardónico- pensé que ibas a enseñarme algo más que eso. Necesitaba aquello que había adivinado en ti y que tú siempre me negaste.

É que tudo o que tenho não se pode dar. Nem tomar. Eu mesma posso morrer de sede diante de mim.

Él, que se había interesado por Lori únicamente por el deseo, parecía ahora ver lo inalcanzable que era ella. Y más: no sólo inalcanzable para él, sino para ella misma y para el mundo. Ella vivía a causa de una estrechez en el pecho: la vida.